


Revealed Secrets

by Agib



Series: Febuwhump 2020 [13]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Episode: s01e06 L.D.S.K., Guns, I'm not fucking around, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Episode: s01e06 L.D.S.K., Protective Aaron Hotchner, Protective Derek Morgan, Serious, Sexual Harassment, Swearing, This Kind of Stuff Will be Discussed and There Will be Healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22786093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agib/pseuds/Agib
Summary: Derek knew. In his stomach and his chest, the ache was there, and it was implicative of a deeper issue. Spencer wouldn’t act like this if he didn’t have a reason to and it was obvious when his behaviour changed. Failing a test was one thing. Failing with a total zero, lashing out whenever it’s mentioned and refusing to return to the gun-range was an entirely different thing, andnota good one.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner & Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan & Spencer Reid, Spencer Reid & The BAU Team
Series: Febuwhump 2020 [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1619311
Comments: 23
Kudos: 706
Collections: Angsty Angst Times, General Manager at the Wendy’s in Fairbanks





	1. Revealed Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> More in-depth warnings: (and spoilers)
> 
> \- Very brief allusions to Derek Morgan's abuse at the hands of Carl Buford.  
> \- Subtly implied events (in the first chapter it isn't explicitly stated, but the second chapter confirms it was sexual harassment) which take place at the gun-range to Spencer Reid.  
> \- This is meant to be a serious comment on really messed up shit that happens to people in this world. If you don't want to read it, please don't feel like you have to. Click on the back button and avoid _anything_ which may trigger you. Don't put yourself through reading something that might hit too close to home. Don't even risk it.

Spencer wasn’t the greatest at anything physical, not to mention something that demanded strength as well as coordination. He was tall and lean, sure, but he walked into things on the daily and could hardly catch a pencil thrown at him, let alone cope with the recoil of a gun.

He sighed, staring across the room at the target wearily. Three bullet holes, each at least several inches away from K5, a headshot. He barely managed to pass his firearms test the first time, and since then he’s only ever had to hold his weapon at the ready on the field, he hasn’t been the one to fire a shot for real in months.

“On SWAT, we broke shots down into three steps.” Hotch is taking time out of his day to help him train, and he’s breaking it down into steps, into a very specific routine of motions which is exactly how Spencer learns and works through every day. “One, front sight,” Hotch explains. He’s behind Spencer’s shoulders a good foot away. “Focus on the front sight, not on the target.” They had been over this hundreds of times now. Spencer followed every step as perfectly as he could, and yet he still misses the target almost every time. “Two, controlled trigger press. Three, follow through. After the shot, you come right back to the target. Now what did you do wrong?” 

“I didn't follow through.” He states simply.

“Right. You came off the target to see where you hit.” Spencer slumps his shoulders slightly, holding back a second sigh.

“Hotch, my firearms qualification is tomorrow morning.” He put the gun down on the bench in front of them. They were the only ones in the training room. He pulled off the protective earmuffs. “I barely passed my last one.” He feels a steadying hand on his shoulder, and he turns to look at his boss. He steps aside when he notices Hotch pulling out his own gun, pushing his earmuffs back on quickly.

“Front sight, trigger press,” he fires, hits the target’s forehead directly, the gun barely moving as he braces against the recoil. “Follow through,” he finishes as he tucks his gun back away. “You do those three things, you'll hit your target every time.”

_Yeah, right._

His next three shots hit the target at least, in a region you definitely aren’t supposed to aim for. “Did Elle teach you that?” Hotch asks humorously from behind him.

“They’re gonna take away my gun,” he huffs.

“Profilers aren’t required to carry,” Hotch points out.

“Yeah, and yet you carry two of them.” He watches as Hotch unclips his ankle holster and fires again. He hits the chest perfectly all three times.

“When I joined the BAU, Gideon said to me, ‘you don’t have to carry a gun to kill someone.’” Spencer frowns, jutting his hip and crossing his arms as he stares at the holes lining the paper target across from them.

“I don’t get it,” he says bitterly.

“You will,” Hotch promises. “Good luck tomorrow,” he gives one firm pat to Spencer’s shoulder before dropping his arm and pulling off the remainder of his protective gear. Spencer watches him leave, groaning quietly to himself as he readies to fire more practice shots.

_This test was going to be hell._

\----

“Reid failed his qualification,” Elle tells Gideon when he walks through the door, coffee in hand.

“He can re-test in two weeks,” Gideon says, unbothered.

“Yeah, but he’s going to be embarrassed about it,” she turns, as does Gideon. They both watch Derek carefully. “So, let’s not mention it,” she suggested pointedly.

“Yeah, let’s not,” Gideon nods in his direction. Derek holds up one hand in surrender, closing the book he hadn’t been bothering to read.

“Not a word,” he lies evenly.

Spencer is wearing a fully buttoned red shirt with a dark sweater overtop when he comes in. He’s sporting dark bags and an obvious distaste for being in the office. Yet, Derek finds himself sidling over innocently. “Hey,” he leans against the barrier between the younger agent’s desk. Reid looks up at him, a glare already on his face. _It’s all in good fun. It always was with Pretty Boy_. “We’re all here for you,” he says seriously. 

He was well aware of Spencer’s ability to profile when Derek was saying something serious. He had a tell, and even if it was followed up with something entirely different to seriousness, the kid was always able to understand he was looked out for. “I’m serious,” he says, just to ram home the point that yeah, he was about to poke fun, but he would always be there if needed. Spencer raises his eyebrows, looking disbelieving. His head was craned back, throat exposed as he swallowed.

Derek leans in, crouching slightly until he’s at face level with the kid. “If you ever need anything,” he untangles the string on the whistle and drapes it around Spencer’s neck, lifting it up to his lips. He gives a short blow, “just blow on that,” he grins. The whistle jingles when he lets it drop against Spencer’s chest.

Normally, Spencer was the type to either disregard Derek’s jokes, or actively thrive alongside them. _Pretty Boy_ began as a joke. In the beginning, Spencer had frowned, assuming the worst of his new co-worker that looked and acted too much like the jocks he endured throughout high school. After months of listening and silently profiling, his defences lowered, and the most Derek got was an incredibly pink faced, stuttering genius that averted his eyes.

Spencer was _not_ the type to lash out.

He peeled off the whistle, dropping it loudly against his desk, pushed back his chair and stormed past the older agent with a scowl of utter animosity on his face.

“Kid,” Derek said, the smile still on his face but slightly more resigned now. He reached out a hand, ready to stop Spencer.

“Morgan, just _fuck off_ ,” he spat.

Derek balked, taking a step back as Spencer shoved past his outstretched hand. The absolute disgust in his words, the violent hatred in his tone, it was enough to keep him quiet long enough for the younger man to slip out of the bull pen without question.

“Warned you,” Elle said gently.

“That… that wasn’t – that was a bit of a reaction. Reid doesn’t – he doesn’t act like that.” He said plaintively.

“He’s never been insecure about something like this before,” JJ pointed out as she placed matching files on each desk. She paused briefly at Spencer’s desk, “he can meet us in the conference room.” Her voice was hesitant, despite how much the fact that Spencer had never been insecure at work made sense, the outburst was too unlike him to ignore.

\----

“Where’s our resident Boy Wonder?” Garcia asked as everyone settled themselves, readied for the briefing. Elle frowned in Morgan’s direction; Gideon rolled his eyes in understanding.

“I’ll go talk to him,” Hotch said. “I’ve already looked over the case, you can go ahead with the briefing.” Garcia nodded once, watching Hotch leave before turning to look at Morgan with concern blazing in her eyes. He shook his head, implying he had no idea.

He jogged down the steps, taking two more sets before walking into the room the kid always got distracted in for long enough to drown out the noises of the bull pen.

Reid was flicking through his case file in silence, sitting on one of the filing boxes with his legs crossed and tucked beneath him. If Hotch hadn’t have been looking, he would have missed the kid folded away in there.

“Reid,” he began. The younger agent looked up, his body language tensing up briefly before he sighed, pushing aside the case and uncurling himself. “I know it’s tough, and I get that nobody on this team will understand how you’re feeling right now… but honestly kid,” he slouches against the wall of files and looks at Reid directly. “It doesn’t matter. We know you well enough to not care if you passed or not. It’s trivial, alright?”

“You know, I’ve actually been thinking about it,” Reid says leadingly. “And I don’t really need my qualification. I hardly use it in the field. In actuality, over twenty-nine percent of age –”

“Reid, just because you didn’t pass this one doesn’t mean you’ll never get better.” Hotch says carefully. The younger agent shakes his head and looks away.

“I don’t even want to carry a gun. They’re pointless. You even said so yourself.”

“No,” Hotch quickly corrects. “I said you didn’t need a gun to kill somebody, not that you shouldn’t have one.” He takes a breath, steadying himself. His heart was racing with the thought of having Reid out in the field, talking down unsubs and putting himself in dangerous situations without a weapon. “You still need to be able to defend yourself with more than words.”

“Whatever,” Reid grunts as he hauls himself off the shelf and onto the floor. “Let’s just get this case over with.”

\----

Morgan kept his distance from Reid as much as he could. He recognised he had crossed a line somewhere, and even if it was unlike Reid to react the way he did, he still gave the kid space.

The only exception was when they realised their unsub had been positioned as the mock unsub in their simulation, which put Reid in the line of fire of a professional gunman. He had yelled, given the kid as much of a warning as he possibly could have, but when he was pushed to the side rather abruptly, and Reid’s breathing picked up too much to pass off as an adrenaline rush, he almost regretted it.

“Don’t – just, please _don’t_ touch me.” Reid had said quickly, his hands clenching, and his tone forced. The bubble Morgan had worked out was expanding, and the kid’s reactions to physical contact were worsening.

And _shit_ he immediately thought. Because he had said variations of those words to so many people after certain experiences. But that was just his head and mind overthinking, overreacting to something small.

Nothing like that was supposed to happen to Spencer. Nothing like that happened to other people – other boys. It was beyond unlikely, especially in their line of work with the amount of security and background checks that go on behind the scenes.

Yet, he still found himself quietly speaking with Penelope when they arrived back in Quantico after the case. Hotch had told them everything, Reid had made a perfect headshot, not much trouble with the weapon considering he had decided against re-testing for his qualification.

“Yeah, it came through on the system. He wasn’t even close to passing, which I found odd,” Penelope said disbelievingly. Derek leaned in, watching her pull up the report and accompanying scores. “Nil in every section, like he didn’t even show up to the test,” she points out.

Nil in every category was impossible. Hypothetically speaking, even if Spencer had missed every single shot, he still would have been marked on his stance, how he held the gun, how he coped with the recoil and numerous other things. Unless he had somehow managed to shoot himself in the face, there was no way in hell he could have gotten nil on every criterion.

“Reid,” he says seriously. The conversation with Penelope still rung heavy in his head. The younger agent tilts in his chair, looking up at him unhappily.

“If you’re going to make a joke, just leave now.”

“I’m not here to poke fun, okay?” Derek rubs his forehead, “and I’m sorry for even doing it in the first place.” _He has to know. He has to prove to himself that he’s being crazy._ “I want to do some target practice with you.” Spencer opens his mouth, ready to argue. “But, just now, with me. You don’t need to qualify; I just want to practice with you. It has nothing to do with convincing you to re-test, okay?” _Is this about qualifying, or about the hoops you have to jump through in order to qualify?_

“No – no thanks. I don’t – I’m busy tonight,” Spencer replies hastily.

_Something fucking happened at that shooting range._

Derek knew. In his stomach and his chest, the ache was there, and it was implicative of a deeper issue. Spencer wouldn’t act like this if he didn’t have a reason to and it was obvious when his behaviour changed. Failing a test was one thing. Failing with a total zero, lashing out whenever it’s mentioned and refusing to return to the gun-range was an entirely different thing, and _not_ a good one.


	2. Hear us Scream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More in-depth warnings: (and spoilers)
> 
> \- Allusions to Derek Morgan's abuse at the hands of Carl Buford.  
> \- Subtly implied events (in the first chapter it isn't explicitly stated, but the second chapter confirms it was sexual harassment) which take place at the gun-range to Spencer Reid.  
> \- This is meant to be a serious comment on really messed up shit that happens to people in this world. If you don't want to read it, please don't feel like you have to. Click on the back button and avoid anything which may trigger you. Don't put yourself through reading something that might hit too close to home. Don't even risk it.

“Let me drive you home,” Morgan says flatly. He can feel the way his thumbnail is digging into the seam of his pants, scratching against his leg.

_Reid was okay. He was okay, or at least… he would **be** okay._

“Please, let me do this as an apology for being such a jerk before.” Reid looks at him, frowning in thought.

“Okay,” he relents eventually. Morgan hovers uncertainly against the younger agent’s desk, wanting to reach out and squeeze his shoulder as he always does after a particularly gruelling case. But all he can remember is how much distaste he had for gestures of affection from anyone after Burford. His fingers twitch, and he squeezes his hand closed.

“I’ll see you at seven then,” he says lightly. Reid pauses, considering him for a moment, and then he smiles. It’s a small one, but Morgan smiles back in relief more than anything.

The remaining time he has left to kill before Reid will ever settle for leaving the office is ridiculously inconvenient. He doesn’t have enough time to convince Garcia to grab lunch with him, now that it’s well past lunch. It’s also a large enough window that he can’t get away with doing no paperwork whatsoever.

He can’t focus, but he tries his best. His hands are twitchy, and he finds himself continually watching the way Reid’s shoulders are set from across the room. He’s hunched over his work, concentrating stunningly. That’s the thing about them, while Morgan does nothing during a hard time, Reid throws himself into work as a method of avoidance or coping, Morgan doesn’t know. Often, he finds the dark rings under the kid’s eyes are impossible to discern as work or stress related.

“Make sure he’s alright,” Hotch says quietly as he passes Morgan’s desk on the way to the stairs out of the office. He nods, letting the man cast a look in Reid’s direction before shooting Morgan a worried but trustful look. Hotch might not have entirely comprehended the situation, but he understood Morgan had his suspicions.

Majority of their career was quiet, civilised judgement of others. Non-verbal communication was second nature at this point. They could read each other with one sideways glance.

\----

“Hey.” Spencer has his messenger bag slung over one shoulder, his coat on, hair pushed back as it normally was after a long period of shoving it out of his face throughout hurried paperwork. “I’m happy to head whenever you are,” he says.

“Thank God,” Morgan huffs jokingly. He hopes to ease the atmosphere between them before they were in a car together for quarter of an hour. He pushes a stack of files into his desk’s cabinet and slides it shut with one foot as he twirls a set of keys around his fingers. “You aren’t busy tonight, are you?” He levels Spencer with a serious look, knowing the kid had lied.

“No, I just – I don’t really feel like practicing.” He meets Derek’s eyes after a struggle and follows himself up with a meek, “no offence.” Derek shakes his head, smiling lopsidedly as he began walking.

“No, I get it.” _He understood, he really truly grasped that whatever had gone down would take a while to process, even for Spencer’s big brain._ He was aiming for casual, trying to keep things as light and airy as possible despite how Spencer was aware of his own altered behaviour as well as Derek noticing the odd backpedal in progress they’d made. “But I am always here if you want to rant about anything.” Spencer gave an appreciative hum from his side as they jogged down the steps to the parking lot.

“I’m sorry for snapping, before the case briefing the other day,” the younger man apologised. “It was – I was way out of line. I should’ve just, I don’t know. Left it alone.”

“No, I deserved it,” he said plainly as he slid into the front seat. “You shouldn’t just leave stuff alone if it’s pissing you off.”

“Yeah but I wasn’t – it isn’t like I actually care; it was – I’m not that bothered whether I have a gun or not.”

“Is that why you don’t feel the need to re-test?” Spencer shifted in his seat, looking out his own window as Derek pulled onto the street. He was drumming long, spindly fingers against his knee as he thought.

“Sure,” he answered finally.

Derek opens his mouth to argue, or to point out how _terrible_ Spencer is at lying, but instead he closes it and nods once, stiffly.

They drive in silence for an alarming amount of time, and Derek wonders if the kid is going to say anything aside from a ‘thank you’ and a ‘goodnight’ once they reach his apartment. If he didn’t have his eyes on the road, he would have been able to pick out the fact that Spencer was quiet because he was thinking, hard.

“How did you know?” The genius asks out of the blue. Derek arches one eyebrow and makes a face of confusion, waiting for the kid to expand. “Like… when did you know – know that… that what was happening was really, actually happening.”

Derek ponders for several long moments, sifting through every conversation the two of them have had in the past week or two. Spencer did this sometimes, remembered a conversation and began a line of questioning to continue it hours, days – weeks even – later, as if to continue it.

“I uh –”

“Actually, you don’t – don’t have to answer that. That was stupid to ask, sorry. Don’t answer,” Spencer inserts quickly. He’s obviously read the confusion in Derek’s tone as hesitance, and he’s backpedalling quickly.

The force and speed at which Spencer revoked his question is what really settles it in Derek’s mind. Spencer’s asking about the one thing Derek finds difficult to discuss.

“Honestly?” He says, steeling himself as unreadably as he can when a profiler is sat beside him, “as soon as I realised, I was uncomfortable.”

Spencer stays quiet at his side, facing forward. Typically speaking, Spencer was the one to find silence after a statement to be disconcerting, which is why he follows it up with facts and more explanation.

“I just got this feeling – like an instinct – that something was _wrong._ ”

Derek is the one filling the role of an over-explainer now that Spencer is comfortable staring out the window in silence as the car pulls into the lot of his apartment building. Once the engine is off, and Derek has turned in his seat to look at the other agent, Spencer gives a shaky response.

“Okay,” he says. His voice is quiet, and if the engine wasn’t off, Derek would have entirely missed the fact that the kid had even said anything. He takes a rattling breath, his chest expands, deflates, and then he meets Derek’s gaze. “I’m a good profiler. I can infer things from the evidence we get from crime scenes and suspects. But – for some reason – I just, I can’t… I’m not good at understanding other people when they interact with me.”

“Makes sense. Not being impartial skews everything entirely,” Derek placates. He can see the anxiety in the kid’s demeanour, the way he’s holding himself.

“I didn’t know what he was – I couldn’t _understand_ – it didn’t make sense –”

“Okay, that’s okay –” Derek jostles himself, lifting and then lowering his hands, trying to force Spencer to let out the breath he was using to shove words out that weren’t making sense. He was continually breaking his own sentences, beginning new ones, a clear indicator of his uncertainty in the conversation. “You can tell me what happened,” he suggested once Spencer had closed his mouth and inhaled calmly, “or we can just file a report and be done with whatever happened.”

Spencer looks up, his eyes jerking to meet Derek’s. His fingers scratch at the fabric of the dashboard.

“I’d rather try and explain it, because you – you’re acting like you think it was more than what it was.” He smiles emptily, rubbing his hands up over his cheekbones and across his temples. “God this is – it’s so _stupid_ and trivial, this – you – I’m making it worse, nothing even _happened_ and I –”

“Reid. You need to take a breath and stop discrediting the situation,” he says sharply. Spencer’s mouth snaps shut. “Whatever happened doesn’t matter,” he instructs. “What actually matters is how much it’s impacting you, okay?”

“That isn’t –”

“ _Yes._ Yes it is, Spence.” He sighs, his teeth clacking together as his jaw tenses. “This is exactly how it works.”

“I failed – spectacularly. Like, barely hit the target kind of fail.” Spencer twirls his fingers around one another, picking at his cuticles at different intervals. “I was all shaky and I’m not used to being like, moved around. Hotch’s never done that when he’s shown me how to shoot.” Derek closes his eyes until he can see little pixelated bursts of colour tearing their way into the back of his skull. “And he said we could fix it, yeah? And I thought he meant – I don’t know. I didn’t really get what he was suggesting.”

Spencer rakes his fingernails across the zipper of his jacket, letting his nails bend back across each tooth of the zip with a soft _click_ each time. “It was a simple, factual proposition. It’s my fault I didn’t understand what he meant, I – I just, I didn’t know what he meant at first.”

_Proposition could mean anything. It could mean a harmless romantic advance that Spencer hadn’t expected. It could mean blackmail, do something for me or you’ll fail. And that’s the aspect that worried him the most, the fact that it could mean anything._

Something on his face must have translated because Spencer is touching his shoulder and speaking again, quieter now. “He just asked me back to his apartment, as an alternative to failing the test,” he explains gently. “Stay the night and he would overlook how royally I screwed up the test.” The nimble fingers against his shoulder tightened minutely before softly releasing. “Derek, he didn’t threaten me with anything. He just… offered – yeah. You get it. I’m not – I wasn’t in a compromising position. I just walked right out, handed my gun in and left.”

“Don’t – don’t just… don’t ignore the fact that it’s _wrong_. It’s a sick, twisted way to use authority, in a fucking federal position c – coercing someone like that – Spence, don’t brush it off.” In two sentences Derek had flickered between multiple emotions that Spencer had perhaps seen a total of two or three times in the entirety of his shared career with Derek. 

He began almost pitying, like he was disappointed in how little weight Spencer had applied to the situation. Soon enough he was angry, a baseline, dry anger that shook through the small space as he seethed. At this point, Spencer didn’t think Derek was conjuring his revulsion from the situation alone, he was digging up old, buried emotions and Spencer hated himself for churning them back up again.

He was torn, he wanted nothing more than to drop the issue and leave it alone, but he knew the likelihood of these kinds of situations and the fact that it had happened within the same half-hour period of knowing the man, he would do it to other people as well. And he couldn’t live knowing someone else would be offered the option to lie with someone in exchange for something as trivial as a gun certification.

“I won’t ignore it,” he says lightly. Derek is watching him carefully. “I – we can… I want to report it, because if it happens to anyone else –”

“It won’t,” Derek says tightly. “We stop it now.”

_We avoid our conflicts, and brush aside our memories that bare teeth, but in doing so, we condemn another to our same fate through the silence we keep._

_I want to hear us scream._

_Even if it means we have to scream together._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part of Feuwhump organised by @spidersonangst @febufluff-whump (on Tumblr) however this is not typical 'whump.' It's a bit more serious, it concerns genuine issues people go through everyday. It's a release and a potential coping mechanism for some people reading this. It's not whump for the sake of whump. Please understand this.
> 
> Contact me on Tumblr @Svn-f1ower if you have questions, thoughts, discussions or need someone to talk to. If you're triggered I'm here, a faceless, nameless entity on the internet, yes, but a real person who understands things too, if you need me.


	3. Discussion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You did good, and we mean that,” he promises.
> 
> “I know,” Spencer mumbles into his shoulder. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lovely anon made a request/suggestion to add a third, final chapter to this on my Criminal Minds tumblr @Svn-f1ower-cm : ) so, here it is!

Derek was aware of how vastly different himself and Spencer were. That fact often played to their advantage, especially in the field. With the distinction in the ways they processed information, thought, and acted, they were both an asset to the team in various ways.

Arguably, Derek’s flaw was Spencer’s strength, and vice versa.

Hotch had implied that Morgan’s largest weakness was his inability to trust the team, and Derek didn’t disagree.

Unsurprisingly, he had never trusted authority figures in his life, especially male ones.

Spencer, on the other hand, sought them out and _thrived_ beneath their praise. He needed that validation from any male in a position of authority, and when he received it, he basked in it. He spent his time seeking people to fill the missing slot his father had left behind.

Derek did not want to fill his gap. He doesn’t need it nor want it. He was capable and self-assured enough to survive without that kind of support, he found it elsewhere – in his friends, his family, his lovers.

But he never blamed Spencer for needing that encouragement. The kid was isolated and almost always had been, the BAU was one of the first groups he had fit in with regardless of his age and abilities. He came into the team rolling in pleasure under Gideon’s adoration and guiding hand. The delight on his face when Hotch did something as small as grinning proudly or congratulating him on the completion of a case, was entirely undeniable.

And it wasn’t as though Derek was not gratified to see the boy so happy and sated under admiration. 

He would like to believe his outlook was justifiably cautious, both in seeing the danger of relying solely on others to structure Spencer’s self-worth, and in the very real sense that you could never entirely trust someone to not take advantage of this fact.

Hence, part of him wanted to shake the kid and tell him that this is what life was – this is what horrible people can do to you or anyone else. He wanted to scream _I told you so,_ because he understands the absolute devastation of wanting to tear the skin from your own bones until nothing they touched could still feasibly exist.

A much larger portion of himself, though, wanted to pull the kid inwards and shelter him from the darker tortures of their world. Sure, they studied and analysed the rottenest depths of humanity on a daily basis as a career choice, but it was never supposed to be _them_.

It was never supposed to be Spencer.

With his perpetually unmatched socks despite the compulsive tendencies he had. With his entire personality setting him up to be this jaded, contemptuous excuse for a person, even though he still managed to hold a pure, optimistic outlook of the world and people around him. It shouldn’t have been the kid, who spent his free time loving foreign film, literature, Jell-O, lollipops and magic tricks.

But it had been, and now Derek had to live with the reality that Spencer could grow too painfully similar to his own personality. That Spencer – with his relentless positivity – could grow to shy away from praise and trust and love, all because of one twisted man who slipped beneath the radar into a federal position that Spencer fell prey to.

“Morgan?” Reid asked softly. They were still in his car, parked outside the kid’s apartment, wallowing in the knowledge that something needed to change.

“Yeah, kid?” He prompts, finally feeling the weighty blanket of exhaustion settle around his shoulders from the day of unyielding worry for the younger agent.

“What happens if… if Hotch can’t do anything?” His eyes are shining with worry, and it’s clear how much the idea of talking to their unit chief, laying out the details and potentially – _hopefully_ , he thinks to himself – casting a monster out of the BAU entirely.

“Trust me, he will.” Morgan can still picture, with frightening clarity, the way their boss’s jaw had stretched and twitched as paedophiles on the cases they worked were cuffed and led away to rot in jail. He recognised the flames twinkling in the man’s eyes as he arrested abusers – physical more than anything else, he had noted – with the demeanour of someone clutching a personal vendetta tight against their chest, never to be expanded upon.

“But if he can’t – if _we_ can’t,” Spencer pressed. Derek twisted the fingers he had wrapped around the steering wheel, ignoring the years he had spent in Chicago with his lips pressed firmly shut.

“If – and it is a big if, alright? – If we can’t change anything, you can be sure Aaron and I are still going to be there.”

Spencer blinks thickly from the corner of his vision, no doubt surprised by Derek’s flippant use of Hotch’s first name in this context.

“Thank you for – y’know…” The kid clears his throat, waving his wrist in a circle as if trying to select the right word from his memory bank of synonyms. “For knowing, I guess.” His voice is slightly hoarse, and Derek finds himself wanting to do nothing more than pull him in for a brief, one armed hug.

“I _am_ a profiler,” he points out, offering a feeble smile instead. “Wouldn’t be a very good one if I couldn’t read you, kid.” Spencer nods, looking grateful although Derek hasn’t managed to do anything as of yet. “Wouldn’t be much of a friend, either,” he sighs.

Spencer offers a breathy laugh that validated Derek’s helpfulness in this ordeal. “We’ll talk tomorrow,” he promises, handing Spencer the strap of his side bag and keeping a careful eye on him as he exits the car and adjusts his jacket.

“Thank you.”

“You don’t need to,” he assures.

_It should never have been you anyway._

\----

Morgan is immensely thankful he chose to arrive early, because when he slips into Hotch’s office, the rest of the bullpen is quiet and empty. No prying eyes.

“Morgan?” Hotch is sitting at his desk, two stacks of files on either side with an open case in front of him. It’s still dark, the sun has barely begun to rise, so the desk lamp is on and casting shadows that only manage to highlight the wrinkles and contours of his face.

It takes the man a moment to look up. “Morning,” he says, clearly surprised to see the typically late-starter in the office at this time.

“Hey, sorry to bother you so early,” he says easily. Hotch shakes his head dismissively and gestures to the chair in front of his desk. The chair is only ever used for bureau related matters, anything personal is done in the rushed moments between roundtable meetings and the drive to the airport, hushed and sincere.

Derek wishes he could speak to Aaron about this at a personal level, but it wouldn’t be the same, and it wouldn’t help the kid in any way shape or form.

“Everything alright?”

_No,_ he wants to say. Because that is the truth. Nothing could be okay when someone so wholly innocent and fresh to the team – to the world they live and work in – had been put in such a demeaning and humiliating position on company time.

“I ah – it’s not about me, actually.” Hotch’s brow line creases in thought for only a moment before he puts his pen down, places both elbows on the surface of the desk, clasps his hands together and nods once.

“Is this about Reid’s certification?” He asks candidly.

“Yeah, I wanted to talk to you about some things concerning that.” Hotch gives him another nod to proceed. “I’m sure you know I talked to him after work last night.”

“Yes, and I’m glad you did,” he answers supportively. Morgan huffs a short laugh, because _shit, is he glad he did too._ He doesn’t want to fathom how Reid would have coped having to sit on that secret for as long as Morgan did when he was younger.

“I – um…” He pauses a moment, trying to figure out how to start this conversation off. He couldn’t exactly lay out the details without preamble, unless he wanted Hotch picking up on the fact that he seemed to know an awful lot about victimised behaviour following incidents like this. “Some of his actions were… ticking certain boxes, and I got worried.”

Hotch is considering him with careful eyes, taking in his words and processing them as he forces them out. Morgan sighs, leaning forward in his chair slightly. “I got worried, I started asking questions when I drove him home last night and we – he – I mean…”

“What happened, Morgan?” Hotch prompts, now looking halfway between impatient and concerned.

“The instructor he had – the guy marking his qualification, he tried to – he was _coercive_.”

Of all the times he has attempted to read Aaron in his career at the BAU, Derek has never managed to pick a singular emotion for any one moment of his unit chief’s day.

But now – after he finally pushed the words out – Hotch looked positively _tumultuous_. With his head dipped and his fists clenched together, he reminded Morgan of the various unsubs they had arrested with anger management issues.

Hotch is silent for a moment, seeming to analyse the patterns of his desk before speaking.

“What does that mean?” He grits with an impressive amount of restraint.

“It means he’s going to come in here, with me, and file a complaint.” He speaks with more surety than he’s entitled to. He has no doubt Spencer’s confidence will have wilted overnight, even more so when the prospect of discussing the incident with his superior.

“Is he hurt?” Aaron asks sharply, the muscles in his jawline as tense as Derek has ever seen them when not on a case.

“I don’t believe so, no,” he answers honestly. He should have asked Reid the same question, considering how vague the kid had been last night.

Anything could have happened, and Morgan comprehended that fact more than he would have liked to. 

“Look, Hotch,” he starts, shuffling further forward towards the desk. “He isn’t – he didn’t seem at all comfortable with making a big deal out of this, okay?”

Hotch frowns. Morgan agrees with his sentiment. “I need you to – well I need you to let me help him out, firstly, because he sure as hell isn’t going to address the problem without prompting – and you might need to be… gentle.” He cringes at the word choice, trying to find a way he can encapsulate how difficult it will be to tug some spark of aggression from the kid.

Of course, both Hotch’s and his own reaction had been anger, because whoever felt comfortable enough to even consider propositioning the kid like that should be put in place, but Reid’s response had been to assume his own culpability.

_“It’s my fault I didn’t understand what he meant.”_ He had said.

“I know you have a system in place, and regulations to follow,” Morgan forewords. “But trust me when I say I know how hard this is going to be for Reid to even talk to you about.

If it were his place to say, he’d explain how much the kid idolised Hotch and Gideon, and how difficult that would make any conversation about – what Reid perceived to be – his own shortcomings, particularly when he only ever sought positive reinforcement from his superiors. But it wasn’t his place to explain that, and hopefully Hotch could unpack what he meant by the need to be ‘gentle’ with the kid.

“Okay,” Aaron breathed. He looked distressed already, and Derek weakly hoped Spencer wouldn’t interpret any frustration as aimed in his direction. “We have a briefing at noon,” he checks his watch, glances towards the glass window facing the bullpen. “Why don’t you bring him up as soon as he gets here.”

“That’s what I was thinking, he gets here at seven anyway.” Morgan smiles, its rather terse and the knowledge that neither of them were able to have seen this coming despite their jobs as profilers ruins the sentiment of it all, but Hotch returns it weakly.

“Thank you, Morgan,” he says earnestly. “For speaking with him, and for seeing me first.”

_Just doing what I wish someone had done for me,_ he thinks bitterly. _Because the kid deserves at least this much, for what he’s been through_.

\----

He spends almost three quarters of an hour sitting at his desk staring at a case file he should be beginning to work on. He cannot find the energy to, not with how often he’s been looking at the clock and shuffling into the break room to refill his coffee cup. 

The steady rumble of the elevator running up and down the building has him glancing up each time, expecting Spencer to step out. Unfortunately for him, majority of the time it seems to be workers from other departments filing to their desks for the day.

JJ arrives, greets him with a smile and moves off to her own office.

Because of his preference for showing up at the latest hour possible, he isn’t well versed in the team’s arrival times. He knows on the odd occasion he’ll beat Elle in, but aside from that, the only information he has to keep his nervousness at bay is the fact that Spencer has offhandedly mentioned he’s in the office by seven at the latest.

The kid shows up at twelve to seven, and Derek immediately feels his own shoulders drop the tension they had been carrying.

“Hey,” he greets, immediately standing from his desk. Spencer’s eyebrows quirk upwards in surprise.

“Morning,” the kid lays his bag out on his desk, already beginning to rearrange his case files. “You’re here early,” he comments lightly.

“That I am,” Derek answers, reaching out to pluck at the kid’s scrawny upper arm and tug him right back out from the desk chair he had halfway lowered himself into.

“What are we – is there a case?” Spencer asks, and if Derek could comment, he would say there was hopefulness in that tone.

“Nope.” He lets the grip fall, but Reid happily continues along at his side like a leashed dog. 

Morgan jogs up the steps towards Hotch’s office, only pausing when he can no longer hear the tapping of Reid’s footsteps behind him. When he turns, he can see the cogs spinning in the poor kid’s head. “Come on, it’ll take less than an hour and we have a briefing at twelve anyway.”

“I uh – I didn’t think you meant –”

“Hey,” he says, softening minutely as he turns to face the man. “It’s gonna be fine, alright?” He won’t admit to arriving early only so he could prepare Hotch for the conversation all three of them hate to have. Not unless he wants Spencer to combat the issue even harder.

“You know, statistically speaking the best time of day to learn and discuss things is actually when the brain is in acquisition mode.” Morgan ignores him, continuing to make ‘come here’ gestures with his hand as Reid rambles onward. “So, I mean maybe we should wait for a more effective time to have this talk. Perhaps between ten and two – or – or four and ten at night. Otherwise we might as w –”

“Spencer,” he deadpans, trying his hardest to look stern yet understanding. The boy stops talking, but his face remains pale and his body language continues to tighten until he’s folded into an uncomfortable looking lump of stress and hostility.

“It has to be Hotch?” He asks eventually, after another minute of standing off with Morgan on the balcony of their unit chief’s office.

“Unless you’d rather go through Gideon first and _then_ talk to Hotch.” Reid’s face twists in aversion, as if he’d inhaled a lemon. “Hotch has to know these things, man. It’s his job, as much as you might hate it.”

“I know,” Spencer mumbles distantly. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” he gripes as he joins Morgan in front of the office door.

“And I get that, I _do_. But I’m not about to let you brush this off like it’s no big deal,” Derek shoots right back.

The door clicks open and Spencer, for some unearthly reason, finds himself heating up under Hotch’s straight-to-the-point demeanour.

The two of them are waved in and Hotch waits patiently for them both to settle into the two office chairs propped up in front of his desk.

“So,” Hotch prompts. Spencer can feel Morgan’s eyes prying into the side of his head.

“Um, I uh – I wanted to talk – was wondering if I could speak to you about my certification. Th – the one before our last case.” Hotch gestures for him to continue. Reid looks to Morgan, uncertainty flush in his eyes.

“How would you go about requesting this for somebody else on a case?” Morgan provides.

“I need t – to um… request to file for a formal complaint. I need someone to investigate said claims and issue appropriate disciplinary measures if any violations are proven.” Reid has both hands clasped into fists kept pressed against his knees, he looks carefully to the floor or ceiling, effortlessly missing Hotch’s eyes.

“You read the handbook, didn’t you?” Morgan asks, the perfect touch of amusement in his voice, according to Spencer.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. He will not indulge the fact that last night he re-read it for the second time. Even if his memory were near flawless, he had no-doubt the older agent would be insistent about following through on their prior conversation.

“Alright,” Hotch says evenly. “We’ll get this in writing later but talk me through things.”

Reid blinks, chewing the inside of his lower lip and pausing his ceaseless eye movement to stare at Morgan for silent support. He receives an encouraging nod, which he takes in stride before finally meeting the unit chief’s eyes.

Derek had only been half joking when he figured Spencer had learned the handbook, but the man rattles information off like he’s reading straight from the harassment complaint manual.

Morgan himself might not have an eidetic memory, but he absorbed majority of the information the kid spared. The name, department, and title of the instructor, which Morgan promises himself he memorised _just in case_ things didn’t run according to plan.

Listening to Spencer recount the incident unfortunately meant Derek found himself leaving nail marks in Hotch’s spare office chair. Knowing the relevant information was there calmed him somewhat.

He had only been present for one of Hotch’s shooting lessons. So, in contrast to that, hearing the kid describe the way his ‘real’ instructor had physically manoeuvred him into position, hands lingering, only added to his nauseating understanding of the boy’s discomfort.

Morgan knew he was hypocritical in various ways. He was walking Spencer unwaveringly through reporting the situation and coping with it, but he had never done anything of the sort for himself. Listening to what had happened angered him, which only validated his unexplainable need to protect the kid, and yet he wouldn’t give anybody else the opportunity to do the same for himself.

He can tell himself he didn’t need it – doesn’t want the pity – but he can be rather certain of the fact that his concern for Spencer was mere projection of his own issues.

By the time Morgan managed to discard his wandering train of thought and zone himself back into the discussion at hand, Hotch has almost finished walking the kid through the steps he will take to resolve the issue.

“I have the discretion to aim for dismissal,” Hotch confides. He has leaned forward on his desk and looks to the younger agent in a way which portrays the appreciation he has for Spencer. While Morgan knows Gideon is close enough to Reid that he feels comfortable outwardly stating how proud he is of the kid, Hotch’s indirect expression of such is as close as he’ll get to doing the same.

“You did good,” the unit chief admits earnestly. Morgan watches Reid shuffle in his chair, pleased with his boss’ gratitude. “We can revisit this, once the appropriate adjustments have been made.”

Morgan sincerely hopes the ‘adjustments’ Hotch refers to will entail the dismissal of whatever asshole had the nerve to make the kid feel anything close to uncomfortable.

“Thank you, Sir,” Reid says pensively. Hotch softens, smiling for the first time since both of them entered the office.

“Anytime, you know that.” Although the statement isn’t made as a question, Morgan is willing to bet Hotch only said it as a confirmation that Reid understands the unquestioning support he is offered.

He exchanges a silent nod with the unit chief before standing from his chair and giving Spencer a moment to follow. “See you in the briefing,” Aaron says calmly as both of them file out onto the landing.

“You good?” Morgan asks seriously, laying a hand at the kid’s shoulder.

“Yeah, I uh – yeah. That was… it was good. Thank you, Morgan.”

He tightens his hand in response, grinning lopsidedly before the kid pushes forward to, astonishingly, initiate contact of his own.

Spencer presses himself into his chest, his cheek coming to rest against Morgan’s shoulder.

Derek shifts his arm, letting it relax against the back of the kid’s neck. He lets the moment linger, his free hand circling to pat against Spencer’s backside in what he hopes is a friendly, comforting manor.

Through the half-tilted blinds, he catches Hotch’s eyes and exchanges a silent _keep him stable. Be there for him,_ with the man.

“You did good, and we mean that,” he promises.

“I know,” Spencer mumbles into his shoulder. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have anything Criminal Minds related to say, pls spam me @Svn-f1ower-cm I would love heaps of headcanons and asks <3 they make my day!

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of Feuwhump organised by @spidersonangst @febufluff-whump (on Tumblr) however this is not typical 'whump.' It's a bit more serious, it concerns genuine issues people go through everyday. It's a release and a potential coping mechanism for some people reading this. It's not whump for the sake of whump. Please understand this.
> 
> Contact me on Tumblr @Svn-f1ower (@Svn-f1ower-CM for specifically criminal minds) if you have questions, thoughts, discussions or need someone to talk to. If you're triggered I'm here, a faceless, nameless entity on the internet, yes, but a real person who understands things too, if you need me.


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